


Bleed To Love Her

by Misslethwaite



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, I blame a certain someone for encouraging me to finish this, Love you really, One Shot, you know who you are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 21:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17292089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misslethwaite/pseuds/Misslethwaite
Summary: Aftermath of an ambush at the swamp shack. An excuse for fluff and comfort with minor injuries involved.





	Bleed To Love Her

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyRavenscroft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRavenscroft/gifts).



> An old piece I re-discovered, picked up and polished a bit to finally put here. Set Pre-Seven Wonders/During Coven/2013-2014.

“Ow. Ow…” The taller blonde of the two shifted again on the edge of the bed, instinctively pulled herself away from Cordelia’s touch upon her damaged skin. This only served to make the older alchemist sigh as her fingers, already stained dull with the mud in her hands, reached for the squirming swamp witch again.

“Stop moving,” She implored as though reprimanding a fussy child who would not relent to her wishes. Misty’s shoulders dropped a little although she still kept her distance. The mud did indeed help ease the pain, she knew that, she had helped to make it after all. It was the initial application she wished to avoid on the more tender areas of her skin that still ached, stung and generally pulsed with discomfort.

“But it hurts,” Misty tried to explain with a grimace as Cordelia knelt closer. With a rather deft move of her elbow – free from mud unlike her hands - Cordelia shifted the shawl she had pried from Misty’s pale shoulders safely out of the way of any potentially staining substances and caressed the restless witch’s arm again, smothering another particularly angry looking cut in the cooling mud mixture.

“I know and I’m trying to help but if you keep fidgeting this is never going to work properly.” The tone of a teacher. An authoritative adult. One with the knowledge that any argument was futile, that they would win in the end. Still, that didn’t seem to stop the swamp witch from trying. She was all for healing, no doubt about it, and she did not wish to be in any more pain but her stubborn streak refused to let her settle.

“But I-” Cordelia could tell that the younger witch’s senses were still on high alert, and she could hardly fault her for it – her own heart still beat an odd staccato sound to the fear that lingered inside her own mind - but it did not make the job of caring for Misty’s visible injuries any easier.

“Sit still.” An amalgamation of chastisement and imploring came from Cordelia’s lips as she held on to Misty’s arm, kept her from moving further away again.

“Urgh,” Misty groaned with a puerile manner; her own shoulders dropped as she relented to Cordelia’s command after all and let her administer the last of the mud that tingled across her skin.

“There,” Cordelia pulled back, lifted her hands away as the two of them glanced at her handiwork, the way Misty’s pale skin was slathered in several places with the contrast of dark sludge. At least the mire hid the cuts and bruises. Rather the similar splotches of the same stuff that promoted healing than the palette of damaged skin in an array of painful tones that was no prettier sight to see. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” The headmistress’ head tilted a little to the side, mocking the swamp witch with a small smile as the younger woman returned her gaze.

“Yes.” A frown accompanied her monosyllabic response, although it did not linger for long as the curve of her lips gave way. It was difficult to remain stoic when the headmistress smiled so. The situation felt a little less dire with such a teasing tone in the air, if only for a moment – they could have merely been at ease on an average day then, blissfully unaware of circumstance. But such bliss was not to last as Cordelia rose to her feet, albeit a little unsteadily in Misty’s eye and searched for a cloth to clean her hands with. With one task complete, her main priority taken care of, it was no secret her eyes and her mind immediately sought another.

“Now what are we going to do about those men outside…” Cordelia’s eyes glanced towards the doorway. Beyond the entrance lay the bodies. Despite the effort, the pair of them had dragged the two that had ended up inside the small shack out to the others before they had turned attention to themselves. No words had been spoken, only a mutual feeling that neither of them would feel safe until the threat was out of sight and out of mind. No doubt Cordelia would even clean the floor if given half the chance and a moment spare. Blood was still slick on the hardwood. Misty watched the woman move aware that even in her paranoia, Cordelia never turned her back on the swamp witch. She moved in such a way that Misty was always in her sights, always facing her. They were the same. Afraid to lose if they looked away.

“Delia, wait.” Misty pulled herself up from where she sat on the edge of the bed. Despite the way Misty stepped into her path, it was Cordelia’s turn to cease fidgeting, twisting the dirtied cloth in her hands as her thoughts flew to the next fear that hovered about them like a dense bank of fog.

“We can’t just leave them there.” At a stretch, one body may have been explained. Perhaps a stray alligator attack, or the overused phrase of an accident. Cruel as it may have been to suggest so, one man missing may not have meant much to most. But with several outside the door, with all the more reason for it, there was less to say so soundly. Misty shook her head. It was easy to understand the headmistress’ fears, but they were essentially isolated, surrounded by dense areas on all sides that would put off most prying eyes from venturing far enough to find them. Even if they did, there were a number of other things intruders had to be wary of, rather than the discovery of several dead men.

“We’re in the middle of a swamp, they won’t be found for a while.” Misty’s voice was certainly calmer than she let on, but Cordelia’s agitation only emphasised her own that she tried so hard to swallow. The older blonde was not satisfied with such an answer though. Misty had half a mind to wrench the cloth from her hands, the way she twisted it so, but then she would only need something else. Now she knew how frustrating it must have been for Cordelia when she wouldn’t stop moving. At least she had been something to focus on though, not this anxiety. For the usually calm and collected Cordelia, it was almost difficult to see her so restless without more visible reason.

“They found us.” An exasperated, if obvious response. Again, Misty shook her head. She had lived there herself long enough to know such a thing was not supposed to be a common occurrence. Nevertheless, it was her turn to take Cordelia’s arm, to make the shorter woman stand still.

“Only because they were following you. And you were following me,” Misty said matter-of-factly. The swamp witch didn’t have to ask why the witch had pursued her; the way Cordelia looked at her then, the concern that filled the dark depths of her eyes told her before the words ever left her lips. It hadn’t taken long for Cordelia to notice Misty’s absence at the academy, and immediately to assume the worst would follow. Without more than a word or two to the others, all far too preoccupied with their own selves anyway, she had taken it upon herself to trace the steps of the swamp witch and convince her to return. Even the academy wasn’t the safest place then, that much they both knew, but at least under one familiar roof, Cordelia could keep a close eye on the younger witch and ease her troubled mind a little if she knew she wasn’t alone. So in fear of imminent danger, she had followed, and inadvertently danger had followed them.

“I needed to know you were safe.” Cordelia’s hands found Misty’s own, held them tightly in her grasp, with only the cloth separating skin from the touch of skin. Misty however pulled the rag from Cordelia’s grip and turned away for a second as she threw it aside with a murmur.

“That went well then didn’t it…” Too late to take the words back, she turned back to Cordelia with an apologetic look upon her face after she had realised how she sounded. No matter what look she gave though, Cordelia’s own eyes drew away towards the floor for a moment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant,” Cordelia said softly, and her eyes habitually drifted towards the door, what lay, now lifeless, beyond the entryway. If she hadn’t been so insistent on finding Misty, they might not have found them so soon and caused such chaos. As glad as she was to have been there to prevent the worst, Cordelia couldn’t help but feel to blame. Sensing this emanating from the older witch, with a gentle hand, Misty drew Cordelia’s gaze back towards her.

“But we’re safe now?” It was more of a question than she meant it to be. Logically, she knew they were safe. At least for a little while. But even her confidence had been rattled by their shared anxiety. Cordelia gave a sigh of discontent that made the small smile Misty had plastered upon her face falter.

“For how long?” The older witch nuzzled her cheek to the palm of Misty’s hand as her eyes closed, revelling in the touch, fearing how long it would last before she took it away. Misty ran her other hand along the length of Cordelia’s arm, felt the coolness of the flesh beneath the sleeve of her blouse. Granted the little swamp shack did not pertain the warmth of the Academy heating – that building had a chill all of its own kind that no fire could dissipate – but it was homely enough to maintain temperature of a decent degree. It was strange to feel her so cold.

“Don’t think like that,” Misty admonished. Neither of them could afford to think like that. Fear could consume far too easily. To allow it to do so was to let those who wanted them dead to win after all. They may not have been physically killed, but what would be left if the paranoia lingered to wreak havoc that could not be so clearly seen but just as devastating.

“They’ll realise they are missing… we have to-” Cordelia protested, but the swamp witch was not inclined to agree. She pulled the shorter witch back towards the space she had vacated on the bed, her grip on the woman’s arm gentle but unrelenting as she all but dragged the restless woman.

“We don’t have to do anything about them. You have to sit down while I see to you now.” It was Misty’s turn to chastise as she tried to get Cordelia to sit down, but the other blonde merely shook her head, hands drifting in a dismissive motion.

“There’s nothing to-” her insistence was cut off before it could come to a determined end. It was Misty’s voice this time that had fallen a fraction, a levelling tone that dared defiance.

“Don’t lie.” She led Cordelia back to the bed, perching the pair of them down on the edge. Against any better judgement, Cordelia appeared close to caving, her composure crumbling little by little under each of Misty’s light touches. She hadn’t let go of her arm since she took it, not even for a second.

“Only some scrapes and bruises here and there, I’ll be fine,” the older witch tried again to insist, pulling the cloth rag that had appeared in Misty’s free hand into her own to wipe the remnants of the mud clean from her own stained fingers. A nice long shower would do the pair of them wonders, she couldn’t help but think, but that would mean going back to the Academy, venturing out into the doubtful darkness neither felt particularly fond for, that inevitably lay between one sanctuary and another…

"Hell, you’re the worst liar,” Misty said with a shake of her head, curled tendrils of blonde drifting across her shoulders. Cordelia couldn’t help but flinch at stray ends still tinged shades of rusting red and brown. “Don’t think I didn’t see what that guy tried to do…”

“It’s not that bad…” There was no escaping it. She was crushing under each repeated wave of concern that rippled through that cerulean gaze. Another layer giving way under the askance of those eyes of an azure sky.

“Then show me.” The taller witch pulled back a little, just enough to develop some more space between them as she waited. They both waited. Beyond the rise and fall of their gentle breathing, neither of them moved.

“There’s nothing to-“

“Show me.” The hand on Cordelia’s arm moved gently, pulling the both of them from the edge of the bed to a better seated position in the centre of it. Misty folded her own long legs beneath her, giving Cordelia more space to make herself comfortable, as visibly tense as she was. Ever so tenderly, the older witch felt a hand ghost across her shoulder. Fingers danced with a feather light touch, trailing down her back until there was a sudden pull at the fabric. Cordelia glanced back over her shoulder, but she was unable properly to read Misty’s apparent expression, partially obscured as it was behind the curtain of unruly hair.

“What are you…?” Cordelia began, before she felt another tug at the soft fabric of her shirt, the way the hem slipped up a little at her midriff.

“Take this off,” a quiet command that spoke volumes in the stillness of the silent shack. Cordelia shook her head once more, about to twist to face the swamp witch.

“You really don’t have to-”

“Take it off. Please,” this time it was no command so much as a plea. Soft and…was that sadness? Or was that fear, that made such an otherwise strong tone tremble so? Cordelia took a deep breath, let it fill her lungs with the cool night air against the burning of her back. With a slow reluctance, she grasped the hem of her shirt in shaking hands and with Misty’s help, pried the material away revealing the pallid skin below. Or at least what could still be seen of it beneath the thick ribbons and thin rivulets of blood. There was a sharp intake of breath from the witch behind her. “He…he could have killed you Delia…” Open to the air and with adrenaline swiftly dwindling, the shock was wearing off, leaving the pulse of pain behind growing with each heavy pound of Cordelia’s heart as she held her breath.

“It’s not as bad as it looks…” she said breathlessly, though her teeth then found her lower lip, digging into the soft flesh, whittling the skin away in a bid to focus on something else. She almost wished for the wary worry from before.

“Like hell…” Misty said softly, her own warm breath brushing just past Cordelia’s ear as tender fingers touched the skin just below the back of her neck. Such warm hands, familiar hands, touch of skin to sensitive skin. Slowly, carefully, Misty helped guide her. “Lay down,” the swamp witch said quietly, lowering the older witch to lay on her front on the bed, exposing the expanse of her ravaged back. Hesitant fingertips danced at the strap of Cordelia’s bra, most of the thin white material already stained a pinkish red hue. “May I?” Misty asked, voice husky and hesitant. Any other circumstance, and Cordelia may have flushed scarlet at such a prospect, at being so exposed like this. Even if it was only Misty. Especially if it was only Misty. But pain prevailed over any prudent nature and she nodded against the pillow on which her head lay, heavily breathing in the earthy scents of the cotton, to keep from hissing between her teeth as Misty pried the article free.

The cloth rag stung. However gentle Misty tried to be, however quickly she tried to wash the blood clean from the pale skin, it wasn’t quite quick enough for Cordelia not to feel it. She creased her eyes closed, burrowing further into the pillow as she tried not to flinch. Now she understood Misty’s restlessness, her reluctance to sit still as someone else cleansed your wounds.

And suddenly there were hands. Those warm hands again. Smoothing down the curvature of her back, leaving a soothing trail in their wake. The cool feel of the mud being coated down, down, down along her spine, dampening the pain as the steady pressure of fingers pressed on. Then they were gone. Leaving only the mud and the memory of such careful caresses. Cordelia’s breath came a little easier as she turned her head from the pillow.

“Is it over…?” she asked quietly, eyes still closed lest there be more to come and this was but a brief reprieve.

“Yeah,” was that a crack she heard in Misty’s voice? Or just a creak of wood as Misty shifted beside her on the bed? “Yeah, it’s over. You’ll be ok.”

“We’ll be ok.” Cordelia’s eyes slowly opened, searching for the swamp witch. A task made all the more difficult by having to stay on her front. She had tried to move, but Misty’s hand upon her shoulder, all bruised knuckles and muddied palms had insisted she keep still. Goosebumps raised along her flesh, feeling the cool night air where it touched the exposed skin that remained clear of mud.

“Yeah…” The bed gave another groan of protest as Misty moved away for a moment. Before Cordelia could protest she had returned, and felt the thin soft material of a shawl being draped over her back.

“Won’t this…?” It seemed an odd thing to worry about, given the circumstances. Trivial almost. That must have been how Misty saw it, perhaps. What was a little mud and blood on material after all. Still, Cordelia couldn’t help but feel just as guilty for potentially ruining such a precious thing as she was grateful for the warmth and modesty.

“It’s ok,” Misty dismissed. That didn’t absolve the older witch from making a mental note to purchase a few more as recompense. It would not be long before Misty would find a parcel with no note that would be left on her makeshift porch, containing three new more intricately woven shawls of varying colours. A sigh escaped Cordelia’s lips; exhaustion took its toll now the tension had ebbed away and as much as she may have mentally wanted to get up, everything about her begged her to stay down. She looked over at the lithe blonde still perched beside her, in just as distressed a state and disarray as she was. And here she was having taken up the bed. Cordelia could see those eyes of blue blinking heavily, the colour of churning deep waters, dark with weariness she dared not speak of. A weariness that weighed heavily upon them both.  
Slowly, the older witch reached out a hand, taking Misty’s in her own. Her thumb brushed over bruised knuckles as she gently tugged.

“Lay with me?” she asked softly, barely a whisper in the stillness. Bar a few seconds more of hesitant silence, Misty made no objection to the request. Mindful of the small space, Misty manoeuvred herself to lay down beside Cordelia, propped up on her side, resting on her elbow in so casual a manner, they could have been lying there together on a blanket on a sweet summer’s eve for all the image they presented had they not both been slathered in mud.  
The small space on the bed left so little between them, Cordelia could feel the warm rush of Misty’s breath across her cheek. They were so close… Misty’s free hand brushed across her temple, leaning ever closer, and brushed a stray lock of long blonde hair from Cordelia’s eyes.

“You were a sight to see, you know that?” Misty said quietly, a light chuckle lilting from her chest. Cordelia could not think of a more delightful sound as she lay there, distracted by the tender touch that had come before.

“Mmm?” She didn’t want to think about those men, about their knives, about how she had reacted so instinctively, so irrationally, so violently unlike herself, in the moment. No, she wanted to be in this moment only. Basking in the warmth of a fellow witch that meant no harm. A dearest witch who probably meant so much more than that.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” another chuckle, low and husky. Did she know what that sounded like? Did she know what it felt like to hear it, after fearing she might never hear such things again?

“Neither did I…” Cordelia confessed quietly. She could still feel their blood on her hands, sticky and stained, even scrubbed under mud. It probably still lingered under her nails. She had scratched one of them… “But I couldn’t just let them…”

“I know, I know,” Misty hushed her tone with little more than a murmur. And suddenly she was leaning closer, bridging the distance between them, their lips touching for the briefest of moments. Misty’s lips upon her own once more was like the witch bestowing her own breath, her strength upon Cordelia who still had yet to reclaim all of her own, letting it fill her lungs and surge through her system. The breath, the bond, the beauty of the magic that bled together; two halves finding a whole. Misty finally pulled away again and Cordelia had to resist the urge to pull her back, to keep her there, for them to forget everything just a little while longer…

“Wh-what was that f-for…?” she whispered breathlessly, unable to tear her gaze away from the glistening gaze of Misty’s eyes, as immense, ever-changing and altogether unfathomable as the ocean itself.

“A thank you…for coming back for me. For saving my life, again…”

You really don’t get it, do you? Cordelia couldn’t help but think. You saved me first. And it didn’t matter then how many times she would have to bleed. There was no denying. However it had to happen. Whatever the cause. Whenever it may be. She would bleed to love her.


End file.
